How Does A Moment Last Forever?
by Bellarsam Chrisjulittle
Summary: The post-script and resolution of my story "Evermore." Inspired by and named after the song written by Alan Menken and Tim Rice. You asked for it, and so you shall have it. Hope you like it. :)


**How Does a Moment Last Forever?**

"Alright, my little speed demon," said John Watson, picking up his daughter before she could collide with the coffee table in 221B's sitting room. "That's enough of bringing Daddy closer to a heart attack for the day." He then deposited his daughter gently into her baby jumper, which was placed close to their chairs by the fireplace.

Rosamund Mary Watson was now eight-months-old, and still a wonderful source of joy in the lives of those who loved her. With her bright green eyes, wispy blonde hair, bright curiosity and irrepressible energy, she was her mother's daughter in so many ways. While John Watson would not have changed this for the world, he couldn't deny that sometimes she could be _exhausting_ , especially now that Rosie could crawl with speed and agility. Thankfully, she loved being in her baby jumper as much as she loved crawling around. Once she was settled in, she looked up at her father and babbled happily before busying herself with one of the many attached plastic toys attached to the tray circling her cushioned seat.

Chuckling, John sat himself down in his armchair and looked across at his best friend, Sherlock Holmes. He was typing away on his phone, most likely responding to the easier cases that came into his inbox. "Nothing interesting so far?"

"No- _pe_ ," replied Sherlock, setting his phone aside. "I do hope something that would require me to at least leave Baker Street comes."

"Well, if it does, I'm not sure I can tag along today," said John apologetically. "Mrs. Hudson's looked after Rosie three times this week already –"

"Oh, don't you worry about that, dear!" called the good woman from the kitchen (the room had been a proper kitchen since 221B had been fixed; 221C below was now Sherlock's lab, while John's former bedroom remained upstairs for whenever he, Rosie or both spent the night). "The little one is happy as a clam in her jumper with that music playing Sherlock insists that she listens to."

"Mozart, Mrs. Hudson," corrected Sherlock. "I'll introduce Brahm and Beethoven when she's a year old."

John made an exaggerated face at Rosie. "Oh, won't _that_ be the best birthday present ever?" Rosie smiled and happily cooed in the jumper, her little hands fingering the plastic bees and flowers on the tray (the theme of the jumper was spring). Though he was teasing, John delighted in the ways that Sherlock bonded with his goddaughter.

Besides, he made sure to play all of his favorite Mo-town and Beatles records at home for her. The classical composers may be beneficial to development, but _his_ favorite records were _essential._

"Well," said Sherlock, "after we eat, I'll pop over to Molly's to make sure everything's sorted. I haven't done that yet today. After that, a good case is more than welcome to come."

John had to smile to himself upon hearing this. 221B had been all fixed for three weeks now, and still Sherlock made sure to visit Molly's flat every day. He collected her mail and papers, and made sure everything was clean and in order. And to Rosie, he had been the best that a guardian and godfather could be. Though John had sent many pictures and videos of Rosie to Molly by e-mail, as she'd asked, none of them had included Sherlock (though he had taken plenty of those). John wanted to, many times over, but he didn't; he knew that the core of Molly's reason for leaving had been Sherlock, and he honestly couldn't blame her. But he so dearly wanted to show Molly how much of a good man Sherlock had become since she had left.

"Does anybody object to a shepherd's pie for our midday meal?" asked Mrs. Hudson, poking her head out from the kitchen.

"Sounds great, Mrs. Hudson," replied John as he opened one of the morning papers, while Sherlock gave an absent-minded nod while picking up his phone again.

Some time passed in companionable silence, the only sound being Mrs. Hudson clattering round the kitchen and Rosie's soft coos as she played in her jumper. Then, the soft quiet was broken by Rosie. She didn't cry or scream; rather, she gave a long and loud coo as she stood on her tiptoes in the jumper. She was facing the front door. Both men turned to look and see what had caught Rosie's attention.

It was the best possible reason in the world _._

In the light of the sun pouring in through the windows, because she wore a lovely yellow summer dress with a matching cardigan loosely crocheted and because of the radiant smile on her face as she looked at her goddaughter, Molly Hooper positively _glowed_. But only one reason was needed for Molly Hooper to glow in the eyes of Sherlock Holmes.

" _Molly_!" breathed Sherlock as he looked at Molly, so softly that only John heard him.

Molly didn't hear him, her focus on her little goddaughter. She set down her purse and walked into 221B. As she approached the jumper, Rosie continued to coo and jump up and down, reaching up her little arms to her godmother. As Molly reached down to pick her up, she said softly, "Hello, my little angel," said Molly, with great love in her enriched voice.

After lifting the overjoyed Rosie out of the jumper, Molly Hooper lifted her up and spun them around as they both laughed for joy in the late-morning sunlight. Then she brought Rosie down and cuddled her close; the baby pressed her face to Molly's neck and held onto her sweater with a contented coo.

"Oh, I've missed you so much," Molly murmured, holding Rosie close and kissing her cheek.

John stood up and nearly staggered to Molly, as surprised and as thrilled as his daughter was to see that Molly had come home. After all, as far as John was (and Mary had been) concerned, Molly was family. Molly looked at him with shining eyes and a trembling smile. "Welcome home, Molls," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and kissing her cheek.

"Hi, John," said Molly. "It's good to see you."

Mrs. Hudson walked out of the kitchen, the finished shepherd's pie in her hands. But when she saw the new arrival, she let out a surprised but joyful shriek – and the pie fell to the floor with a _splat!_ But Mrs. Hudson just stepped over the mess and kissed Molly's other cheek. "Oh, my dear, you're home!"

"Mrs. Hudson, hello!" said Molly, with a little laugh. She was clearly overwhelmed by the warm welcome. "You look lovely."

"And _you_ look _wonderful!_ " said Mrs. Hudson, stroking Molly's brown bob, which had an auburn shade to it.

"Yes, this cut suits you, Molly," said John. "Though I'm sure that Rosie will miss playing with your long hair."

Molly laughed, and kissed Rosie's head as she continued to cuddle her neck.

Finally, Molly's large brown eyes met Sherlock's wide turquoise ones; he was now standing up. The entire room went quiet; even Rosie's happy coos quieted. Molly kept her mouth shut, but managed to give Sherlock a tiny, timid smile. As the corners of Sherlock's lips turned upward, he could only say four words:

"Molly…you came back…"

Molly's little smile bloomed like a rose. "Of course, I came back! I said I would, didn't I?"

She then turned her attention back to Rosie, who was now happily chewing on the collar of her light cardigan. Mrs. Hudson broke the silence that followed by spotting the mess she had accidentally created. "Oh, no, I've spoiled the lunch!"

"No big deal, Mrs. Hudson," said John cheerfully. "I think such a happy surprise warrants going out to eat!"

"Absolutely!" said Sherlock, his full voice coming back, stepping around Rosie's jumper and over the mess on the floor and into the kitchen. As he gathered up some paper towels to clean up the mess himself, he called, "John, phone Angelo to reserve a table for five – Lestrade can meet us there – plus a high chair for Rosie. The meal will be on me."

The shock that the other three adults felt by this statement soon melted into happiness. John glanced at Sherlock proudly as the detective cleaned up the mess, Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands in delight, and Molly hid her smile against Rosie as she hugged her.

* * *

Lunch was an absolutely joyous affair. John didn't know what the best moment was: Angelo giving them his best table, the sour look on Sherlock's face when Lestrade welcomed Molly with a big bear hug, the excellent food they all ate in abundance, Rosie's happy giggles when Molly tickled her or blew her hair, the celebratory toast that he had them all make to Molly's return, or the way that Sherlock looked at Molly all throughout the meal as she told them about her travels.

Mary Watson had known her best friend well. Under a series of identities, Molly had spent two weeks each in Italy, Austria and Switzerland (they were countries she had always wanted to visit); then, for last three weeks, Molly had been in France (her mother, who'd died when she was very small, and her family had been French). While in each country, each city, each place, Molly had tried to soak everything up like a sponge: sights, smells, food, sounds, and community. More than anything, Molly said, she found it wonderfully liberating to have left herself behind for a while.

"But, you are happy to be home, aren't you, Molly?" asked Sherlock, in such a voice that any of them rarely heard, if ever.

Molly looked at him, and Sherlock held her gaze. After a minute, Molly nodded slowly and replied, "Yes. This is my home."

* * *

As they were all getting up from the table, Lestrade got a call. It was brief, but it was the kind of call that Sherlock and John knew all too well. When it was over, their suspicions were confirmed when he turned to Sherlock and John.

"Just got wind that this eccentric club of gingers may be linked to the two bank robberies from last week."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in excitement. "A club of gingers? Well, points for originality!" He turned to his partner in crime-solving. "Coming, John?"

"I'd love to, if um…"

He turned to Molly and Mrs. Hudson, who were getting Rosie all ready to go. Molly immediately responded as she held Rosie on her hip. "Oh, please say I can watch her, John! We've so much to catch up on."

"Of course, and gladly!" replied John. Then his smile fell a little. "Oh, you'll have to stop at Baker Street to gather her things, though. There are quite a few things that have accumulated there."

"Well…" said Molly, and she looked at Sherlock. "If it helps you two…I can look after her at 221B."

John looked at Sherlock, who looked like he'd been hit on the head with an anvil. "Of course!" he breathed. "Are you sure?"

"If you are," replied Molly. "My flight brought me home in the wee hours of the morning, and words can't describe the relief that I felt when I found it not only exactly as I left it, but spotless as well. Thank you, Sherlock."

Now Sherlock looked as though he could jump over the moon. "It's the…very least that you deserve, Molly." He cleared his throat. "I'll flag a cab for you three."

John watched the whole exchange with a hopeful feeling in his heart.

Moments later, the boys were driving off to a crime scene in Lestrade's squad car, and a cab took the girls to 221B Baker Street.

* * *

Sherlock and John came back to Baker Street after it had been dark for a while. They climbed the stairs quietly, knowing that Rosie would be fast asleep by now. When they opened the front door, they saw Molly curled up on the sofa, one of Rosie's picture books open on her lap.

She looked up when they softly shut the door and smiled. "Any progress?"

Since Sherlock seemed to be drinking in the sight of her, John replied, "Yep, the tip was good. Sherlock deduced the most likely target and time for the next heist. Are you free Saturday night?"

"Oh, yes," said Molly. "I'm only on day shifts for a while. Mike said that he wanted me to have that, after all of the nights and extra shifts I picked up for other people. I can't say that argued with him at all."

"Very right, too," said Sherlock.

John nodded, then said, "Rosie in Sherlock's room?"

Molly nodded. "In her play pen, fast asleep."

"Thanks, Molly." Then, John gave Sherlock's shoulder a firm squeeze before walking out of the front room.

Now, Molly and Sherlock were alone, for the first time since Molly had come back. And unlike the last time Sherlock had been alone with her, he could clearly see traces of the Molly that he had selfishly called 'his.'

With pink cheeks, Molly closed the picture book and set it aside. "This was always my favorite fairy tale," said Molly. "I love reading it to her, even if she's too young to understand it."

"She will love it, Molly," said Sherlock softly, thinking back to that morning after the storm, when he had read it to Rosie because it had reminded him…of them. In his heart, he now prayed to whatever deity there was that their story would have that ending.

So, Sherlock held out his hand to Molly. With the smallest of hesitations, Molly took it and stood up. Standing toe to toe, Sherlock kept hold of her hand with both of his own as he pleaded his case:

"I've kept my promise, Molly. This is nearly a decade overdue, and I hope it's not too late. Please, look at me while I say it. Look through me as only you can. And please, believe me: I _love_ you. I am _in love_ with you. I want to spend _every_ moment that we both have left with you. I want to be yours, and for you to be mine, in _every way._ Marriage, children, grandchildren, retirement, I want all of that – but only with you. This is how I feel, this is what I want, and it all boils down…to _you_ , Molly."

Molly listened to all of this without interruption, looking at him as he had asked her to do. When he was finished, her gaze seemed to intensify even more; Sherlock made himself hold her gaze and keep still (though it was difficult to even breathe). In those large, dark eyes that had haunted him for months, _years_ , Sherlock saw equal parts of fear and hope. Her free hand lifted, and her fingers traced his face for a moment that seemed to last a year.

Then, as her palm rested on his cheek, Molly's expression melted into one of pure relief and joy as she let out a noise between a sob and a laugh. And Sherlock knew that not only did she believe him, but also that her own feelings hadn't changed. _She still loved him!_

Smiling fit to burst, Sherlock lifted his own free hand to run through her hair. Yes, it was much shorter now, but it was just as silky soft as he'd dreamed it to be. And as their lips finally met, the rest of the world fell away…

* * *

Very softly, John carried his baby girl out of Sherlock's bedroom and down the short hallway to the front room. But when he caught sight of Rosie's godparents, he stopped in his tracks. There was no shock, but great relief, followed by a bittersweet taste.

He saw something out of the corner of his eye, and turned to look at it. He saw Mary, pounding the air with her fist and wearing a victorious smile. When she caught sight of her husband and daughter, her eyes filled with tears. She then blew them a kiss and waved. John returned the gesture as she vanished from his sight, but never from his mind and heart.

After blinking away his own tears, and kissing his sleeping daughter's head, John tiptoed past the embracing new couple – who took absolutely no notice of him. All of them had true peace in their hearts.

 _ **The End**_

* * *

 **A/N:** _Of course I had to give them a happy Sherlolly ending? I just think that, after that harrowing TFP scene, it couldn't happen quickly or easily for either of them. Just like the previous story, this was inspired by and named after another lovely new song for 'Beauty and the Beast'. Please listen to it; the message is so lovely._


End file.
